The situation would have been embarrassing but for the fact that Hank, without a sign of recognition, dived rapidly forward into the crowd and soon was swallowed in a perfect sea of heads and shoulders.
“The last person I’d have thought of meeting,” gasped Ned.
“The last person I’d want to meet,” growled Herc, clutching an armful of bundles he held as vindictively as if he had Hank in his grip.
The Dreadnought Boys had been spending their last day ashore in getting a few necessities for the voyage.
“I noticed him in the crowd on the sidewalk before he boarded the car, and was going to draw your attention to him,” said Herc, “but I thought I must be mistaken.”
“What was he doing?”
“Why, he had just come down the steps of the Hotel Espanola.”
“The Hotel Espanola,” exclaimed Ned in an astonished voice. “Why, that’s the hotel that Charbonde mentioned this morning.”
“That’s right. By grandpa’s prize shoat, you don’t think Hank can be mixed up in that crooked South American thing?”
“I don’t know,” mused Ned slowly, as the car rattled along. “I’d be half inclined to believe anything of a chap who’d been dishonorably discharged from the United States navy.”